


Fifty-two Cracks

by cellardoor



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellardoor/pseuds/cellardoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steph peels her shirt up to her chest to show off her latest war wound, and he grins admiringly - because he's in the business of bruises - and runs a fingertip along it absently. She shivers, and he balks, because the bruises blossom into stretch-marks and he doesn't know anything about those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty-two Cracks

Tim hates himself for thinking about it, but that does't stop it from stealthily creeping into his mind when he lies awake counting the cracks on the ceiling. _Is it enough?_ Fifty two cracks, twice a night, and he still doesn't have an answer.

Sometimes, he feels like he has the best relationship in the world. Who else can climb in through their girlfriend's window in the dead of night and compare notes on the best way to disarm a man twice your size? He's shared punches, broken ribs, black eyes and bruises, but that's just talking shop.

Steph peels her shirt up to her chest to show off her latest war wound, and he grins admiringly - because he's in the business of bruises - and runs a fingertip along it absently. She shivers, and he balks, because the bruises blossom into stretch-marks and he doesn't know anything about those. 

She shrugs her shirt down, and he thinks about her baby and the soft skin of her belly. _Was it one time_? he wonders, and wishes he could ask. Of course it wasn't. He looks at his girlfriend, in all her sleepy, rumpled loveliness, and impulsively leans in for a kiss. 

She leans into him eagerly, pulling him closer by looping her fingers through the front of his shirt. He ends up half on top of her, his heart beating wildly. She grins up at him in the most disorienting, dizzying way, fingers travelling slowly down his chest to the top of his pants. She undoes one button incredibly, _nauseatingly_ slowly, and Tim's almost one hundred per cent sure he's forgotten how to breathe and he might actually combust right then and there.

The teenager he could've been makes some quick calculations. Her mom is asleep, his dad doesn't know he's out, and he's pretty sure she's not wearing any underwear. Add to that the way she's looking at him, and the way her breath is warm on his neck, and it's pretty much a done deal.

Timothy Drake, however, has other plans. Steph's fingers are tugging at his waistband, and he thinks, _I love you, but I can't do this to you_. He sees her in the hospital bed, wheeled into surgery, crying silently into her pillow afterwards. He thinks of the baby's father, if this is how he felt, and thinks, _I don't want to be that guy_.

"Steph," He chokes, pulling away with a superhuman effort, "I can't, I-"

She looks up with disappointment - but a distinct lack of surprise, and a hint of resignation. It hurts.

They're both breathing heavily, and extricating himself from the bed is the hardest thing he's ever done. There's a horribly awkward moment as he does his fly back up, Steph looking away to save him embarrassment as his body betrays him.

He bends over her gently, and kisses her carefully on the forehead.

"I've got to go," He murmurs, and she nods mutely. His other words hang unspoken, but he can't find the courage. _I'm sorry it isn't enough_.

Tim will remember this day as a triumph; mind over matter. The memory will be painful, but with a bittersweet sense of safety, and the conviction that he's protecting her, looking after her. Steph will remember it as the last time Tim ever came anywhere near her bed. From now on, he will skirt around it, politely perching right on the edge when necessary, but never sprawling comfortably the way he used to, never curling up next to her the way she needs. 

Fifty two cracks, twice a night, and he still doesn't have an answer. 


End file.
